Weights and Desperate Measures
by EvergreenDreamweaver
Summary: If only Blair had gone to dinner with Jim and Simon instead of going home to the loft….


Disclaimer: I do not own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was originally written in the around 2004, so technology is not at a 2017 level. Please pardon that fact.

Thank you to all those lovely people who have Favorite-d and/or Followed my Sentinel stories. It's such a joy to know that someone likes reading them!

 **Weights and Desperate Measures**

 **By**

 **EvergreenDreamweaver**

"Jim?" Detective Blair Sandburg trotted into the almost-empty weight room of Cascade PD's basement gymnasium and looked around for his partner. With the time being nearly six p.m., he and Jim Ellison were the only occupants; everyone else had split for home and dinner. "Simon wants to know if you're about ready to go eat."

"Hey, Chief." Ellison nodded briefly to his Guide, and returned his concentration to the 150-pound bar he was currently hefting above his chest. "Yeah, just a little bit—"

"Jim, you idiot!" Sandburg sprinted across the polished hardwood floor. "WHAT are you doing lifting without a spotter?" Hastily, Blair positioned himself behind the weight bench, where he could catch and support the heavy barbell if Jim was, for any reason, unable to complete the lift. It wasn't at all likely to happen – Ellison missing a lift ranked right up there with the sun failing to rise – but still…."You got a death wish, or something?"

"Nobody else around," Ellison grunted, and heaved the bar up. "And I'm…always… careful. Seven….Eight….Nine—"

And the unthinkable happened.

As the Sentinel pushed up on 'ten,' his sweat-slicked left palm slipped on the bar. It tilted precariously as Ellison struggled to regain his grip while keeping the barbell elevated with his right hand. "Chief—"

"JIM!" Blair lunged forward, grabbing the bar with both hands; straining to control the heavy, unwieldy weight, yanking it upwards with all his strength. Their combined efforts – Blair hauling, Jim pushing – halted the descent with the bar a scant inch from Ellison's throat. "Jim, my God…"

Ellison shoved the bar up, and crashed it into place on the stand. Blair released his hold, started to straighten up – and abruptly emitted a sharp gasp.

"Owww! – oh hell!" Sandburg sagged sideways, clutching the left side of his back. He froze, groaning, left hand pressed tightly against himself. "Damn…damn…"

"Chief!" Jim Ellison wriggled out from under the bar and crouched next to his partner. "Easy, easy, easy," he soothed in a rapid whisper, hands on the younger man's shoulders. "Easy, Blair, it'll be okay, it's all right…what happened?"

"Something…my back…" Blair bit his lower lip hard, trying to stifle whimpers of pain.

"Shhh, shhh, hang on." Jim's hands slid down Blair's back towards the trouble spot. "Easy now, let me check it out." He dialed up his sense of touch and passed his hand gently over the area which Sandburg was clutching so desperately, carefully moving Blair's fingers aside. Almost immediately he knew what the problem was. "Muscle spasms."

"H-huh?"

"Right here," Ellison elaborated, increasing the pressure of his fingers minutely. "Your back cramped up when you reached and grabbed the bar. And right now, it's one gigantic spasm."

"Oh…" Monosyllables were all Sandburg could get out between strangled gasps. He bit down on his lower lip again, and the hovering Sentinel realized he was close to drawing blood.

"Don't do that, Chief, you're gonna chew right through your lip! Come on, breathe for me – breathe, don't hold your breath like that. Come on now, try to relax. Breathe through it." Lowering his voice into a soothing chant, striving to imitate that _Guide-voice_ that came so naturally to Blair, Jim began rubbing the spasming muscles gently. "Come on, let it go, relax. Take a breath in, just a little one; there you go – now breathe out, that's it."

Supporting his Guide with one hand and continuing to massage his back with the other, Ellison gradually eased Blair forward a few feet, until they reached a low stack of exercise mats. "Want to try lying down? Can you do that for me? There you go… Relax, Blair, relax. I know it hurts. I know. Easy now; we'll make it better; just give it a little time….Come on now, relax for me…." Another time, the ordinarily taciturn Ellison might have felt a little self-conscious at his effusiveness. Right now, customary or not, Jim didn't care, as long as it worked.

He began rubbing circles again, gently, carefully. "Chief, if I hurt you, for Chrissake, tell me, okay? This isn't supposed to hurt – anything beyond mild 'ouch,' we stop, and try something different."

Silence, broken only by a stifled grunt or two.

"Blair, am I hurting you?" Ellison asked at last, suspecting his roommate was too intent on trying to be macho to heed his orders.

"Not – exactly." The words were muffled; Blair's mouth hidden behind a clenched fist. "I mean – it hurts so much anyway—"

"That you can't tell which is worse, hmm?" The Sentinel's mouth quirked in a wry grin. "Chief, what would you say to a trip to the ER?"

"NO!"

"All right, all right, calm down. I just thought it would be a good idea to get some x-rays taken. I'm not infallible, you know, and you might have torn something." He worked silently for a moment, concentrating hard on easing the tension. "And they'd probably give you some muscle relaxants. Which might help a lot."

"Don' wan' 'em," came the muted reply. "Make me…stupid."

Jim chuckled. "I doubt that they'd make you stupid, Einstein, but I suppose they might make you a little…uh…weird, for a while. Of course, no one would notice—"

"Ha, ha, Ellison, you're a… _unh_ …laugh a minute – OUCH!"

"Sorry, Chief."

"What's going on in here?" A familiar voice sounded from the door, and Ellison turned his head to see Captain Simon Banks standing there, a look of bafflement on his face. "I thought we were going to dinner – aren't you done with your workout yet, Ellison?" He stepped into the room, frowning. "What're you two doing?"

"Oh, jeez…." Jim caught Blair's embarrassed whisper. "I feel like a total idiot now!"

"We've got a little problem, Simon." Unruffled, Jim calmly continued to massage Sandburg's taut back.

"What now?" Banks sounded definitely aggrieved.

"S-sorry, Captain." Blair gritted his teeth as Jim's fingers hit an exceptionally sore spot. "I – it—" He stopped, hissing in pain. "OUCH, Jim!"

"Back spasm," Jim filled in tersely. "He was spotting me, and his back seized up." He added, more quietly to Blair, "Sorry, Chief; try to relax."

"And it's got him completely laid out like that?" Simon's voice held a dubious, querulous note.

"Ever get waked up in the middle of the night with a leg cramp, sir?" Ellison inquired. The question seemed irrelevant, but his captain flinched at an unpleasant memory.

"Oh yeah….Some of the worst damn pain I've ever had!" Banks squatted beside the exercise mats. "You going to be all right, Sandburg?" he asked, in a much more conciliatory tone.

"Yessir." Blair's eyes were still squeezed shut, but he sighed deeply, and Jim could feel the tight muscles beginning to give a little beneath his fingers. "I'll be…fine. In just a…minute."

Banks tilted an inquiring eyebrow at Ellison, who responded with an encouraging nod.

"It's easing up," he murmured. "C'mon, Sandburg, breathe a little deeper for me."

Jim continued to knead and rub a little longer, watching his partner's expressive face closely as well as monitoring his breathing, heartbeat, and muscle tension. Evidently the pain was rapidly diminishing, to the relief of both Guide and Sentinel. "How's it feel now, Chief?"

"Better – a lot better." Blair pulled in a deep breath, opened his eyes, and wriggled to a sitting position. "Thanks, man!" He shivered a little. "I thought I'd broken my back, there for a minute!"

"I'm the one who ought to be thanking you," Jim returned, patting his friend's shoulder.

"You two still up for dinner?" Banks put in, "And why's Jim thanking you, Sandburg?"

"Because," the older detective said, before Blair could respond, "if it wasn't for Blair, you two would be discussing funeral plans, not dinner plans. That bar—" indicating the weight bench, "damn near crushed my throat; it would've if he hadn't grabbed it."

Captain Banks looked at the bar, looked at his two men, and sat down abruptly on the weight bench. "You didn't mention that before," he chided.

Blair, too, gazed at the bar, and shivered again. "I never thought I'd have nightmares about lifting weights, but…"

"Don't think about it," his partner advised, and rose easily to his feet. "Give me five minutes to take a shower, and I'll be ready to go to dinner."

##########

"Chief…you sure you don't want to come with us?" Ellison looked down at his Guide, his forehead creased with a concerned frown. "You were all set to go—"

"I'm just not feeling very hungry right now," Blair admitted. "Kind of lost my appetite. You and Simon go ahead; I'm just going to go back to the loft and crash." He smiled briefly. "You can bring me a doggie bag though. Maybe I'll want it later."

"You got it," Banks assured him.

Jim still looked a little worried, and Blair put a reassuring hand on his partner's arm.

"I'll be fine, Jim."

"Okay, okay. But if you need—"

"If I do, I'll call." Blair's smile was impish, and Jim tousled his curls with a chastising, affectionate hand.

The three men left the deserted gym, and rode in the elevator to the police garage, where they split up; Blair to Jim's pickup, and Jim and Simon to Simon's car. Ellison dropped the passenger-side window as they drove past the truck.

"Chief, you might put some ice on that back after you get home. And not a scratch on Sweetheart, you hear me?"

"Promise, Jim!" Blair's smile was almost back to normal as he waved to his friends and put the truck in gear.

##########

Blair sighed wearily as he parked the truck in Jim's accustomed spot. For a few moments he just sat there, wondering if he had the energy to get out of the vehicle and make his way up to the loft. Although the excruciating spasms had eased, his back muscles were tender and sore, and he felt drained. He speculated briefly on whether a cramp could actually tear a muscle, if it was severe enough – and decided that he really _didn't_ want to know!

 _Hot shower sounds really good…_ Vaguely Blair recalled Jim's shouted instructions. _Ice…._ He snorted, knowing that in the Ellison-Sandburg abode, an ice pack was more than likely a package of frozen peas. _Well, nothing wrong with frozen peas…we keep re-freezing that same package, over and over_ … Fleetingly, he thought about the possibility of them some day eating their ice pack by mistake, and chuckled wryly _._ Yeah, he could do a shower. What he _really_ wanted to do, though, was simply crash on his bed and sleep.

It was much, much later than he'd anticipated getting home. _Might as well have gone to dinner with Jim and Simon!_ First, he'd felt obliged to stop at a gas station and fill the truck's tank, having noticed that the gas gauge was hovering menacingly over the "E", and knowing that doing it tomorrow would take a chunk out of their always-crunched-for-time mornings. The effort of filling the tank had made his back twinge warningly.

And then – as if all of Cascade was plotting against him, he had been caught in a traffic jam caused by a vehicle accident which spread itself over all lanes of the street. Nothing serious, just messy – and Sandburg had been far enough away not to be involved…and too close to be able to extricate himself. Even using lights or siren wouldn't have helped; there was simply no room to move anywhere. So he had sat, fuming, while the cars' owners discussed the situation and waited for tow trucks.

He slid out, wincing at the movement, and painstakingly locked the truck before turning towards the building entrance, his thoughts still homing in on a shower and lying down. Focused on that, Blair didn't notice the approach of two dark-clad forms, and he started, when addressed:

"Hey, mister, got any spare change?" Although the panhandler's voice was subservient and whiny, there was a rough edge to it that set Blair's nerves jangling. He knew his best bet was to give them some money and then get inside as quickly as possible. Police officer he might be, but he still didn't want to end up in a confrontation with two street people who might or might not turn dangerous. They looked shabby and thin; poorly dressed, with knit caps pulled low; unshaven and unkempt, and Blair momentarily wished he had Jim's ability to turn down his sense of smell.

"Hang on, I think so." Blair reached for his wallet. "I don't have much on me, though…"

"That's all right; we'll take whatever." It was the second man – and there was that same dangerous edge in his voice. "We're trying to get enough together to get back to Seattle."

They waited, politely enough, while Sandburg extricated his wallet from his pocket, feeling the reassuring hard bulge of his Sig Sauer against his shoulder as he moved. Not that he had any intention of drawing the weapon – but it was still comforting. He opened the wallet and displayed the contents to the men. "Like I said, there's not much. I think I might have a ten—"

Blair got no further, for abruptly the wallet was snatched from his hand by one of the men, while the other suddenly grabbed his arms, twisting them behind his back.

"Ya know what? Ten's not enough after all," the second voice hissed maliciously. "So we're gonna do this: We'll take the ten – and anything else you've got…and we'll also take that." He gestured as he spoke, and _that_ , Blair saw with horror, was Sweetheart!

"Denny! What're you talkin' about?"

"Man, are you crazy? You can't take that truck! It's not even mine; it's my roommate's – and he'd KILL me, man! It's a stretch for him to even let me drive it!"

"Not our problem. Hand the keys over."

"No. You can't take the truck." Blair set his jaw. "Look, I'll give you what cash I've got on me, and if you guys want a lift somewhere, I'll drive you—" _Idiot! You're offering to take these bozos somewhere in_ _Jim's_ _truck? What kind of fools would…what kind of fool am_ _I_ _being?_

To his utter shock, the two men seemed to be actually considering his proposal.

"Denny, we can't take the guy's truck! I ain't no car thief!" The first guy sounded frightened. "Shakin' somebody down for money's one thing, but stealin' a car—"

"Shut up, Alvie…"

"No! He said he'd give us ten bucks and he'd take us somewhere. We wanted to get outta Cascade, didn't we? We could make him drive us to…to Seattle!"

"Seattle!" Blair couldn't stifle his astonished yelp. "I meant somewhere in Cascade!" His mind was spinning; what in Heaven's name would Jim say if he discovered his partner had driven to Seattle with two homeless men in Ellison's cherished truck? No, this was simply too surreal! _How do you DO it, Blair? How do you get into these situations?_

"All right." The one called Denny had evidently come to a decision. "Give us all your cash and take us across town to the Greyhound station." He jerked slightly on Blair's wrists, and the detective felt his back twinge again. He inhaled sharply, biting down hard on his lip to keep the gasp of pain from emerging.

 _Ouch!_ Damn it all, he was _trained_ for situations like this! All those self-defense classes at the Academy…he was _armed_ , for God's sake! And these two witless hoboes had him subdued like he was still that naïve grad student from five years ago! But he didn't want to fight them, and although they were being threatening, Blair knew that given the choice, he'd deposit them at the bus station rather than arresting them. _All right, Sandburg,_ _think_ _!_

"Guys…you're gonna have to let go of me so I can unlock the truck, y'know. And I can't drive like this." Blair moved slowly towards Sweetheart, his arms still imprisoned by Denny's rough grasp. _All right…Jim's gonna know something's happened when he gets back, but what can I do to give him some sort of sign…drop something. I can drop – what? Not the cell phone, I might need it. Not my wallet, Alvie's got it._ With a sinking heart, Blair realized what he had that would catch Jim's eye immediately.

Denny released one wrist, only to move his hand to his captive's upper arm. "Do it," he growled. "Unlock the passenger side first, so Alvie can get in. And then me."

"Man, one of you is going to have to ride in the back!" Sandburg managed what he hoped was a natural-sounding chuckle. "There isn't room for three adults in that front bench seat; it's got an on-the-floor gearshift!" He wriggled slightly in the vagrant's grip. "Hey, I'm willing to take you to the bus station, Denny – you don't have to manhandle me!"

Grudgingly, the other man loosened his hold and allowed Blair to unlock the door. "I'll ride inside; Alvie's in back," he muttered, gesturing for his partner to clamber into the pickup bed. He jerked open the passenger door and climbed in. "No tricks, kid!"

"Who, me?" Blair walked slowly around the front of the blue-and-white Ford, one hand surreptitiously loosening his belt as he did so. Hidden by the truck's body, he slipped something off and held it tightly a moment, a pang going through him at the thought of dropping it into the street…abandoning it. He swallowed hard, and opened his fingers, letting the precious object fall.

When he got into the driver's seat, there was no sign that Blair Sandburg had ever worn a detective's gold shield.

##########

"I've never seen you inhale Italian food so fast in my life, Jim!" Simon Banks shook his head, chuckling, as he drove towards Prospect Street. "You must be in a tearing hurry to get home and feed Sandburg his dinner!" He looked over at the Styrofoam container in Jim's lap, which was emitting savory aromas.

Jim scowled out at the rain shower-dampened streets. "Well, I want to make sure his back's okay….I – Simon, this is going to sound nuts, but I have a funny feeling. A bad funny feeling. Like something's gonna go wrong. Or already has."

Banks returned the frown, all humor abruptly forgotten. "Is this some Sentinel thing, or a detective thing?" he demanded gloomily. After all this time, he'd learned not to argue with either member of the Ellison-Sandburg team when they brought up the subject of funny feelings or hunches. Too often, they'd been proved right.

"I don't know," Jim replied. "I just know that something's not right."

"Call him," the captain suggested. Jim nodded, conceding the wisdom of the advice, and pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket.

A minute later, he stuffed it back in, his scowl deeper. "No answer at the loft."

"He might be in the shower."

"Maybe."

"Asleep?"

"You don't really think that, Simon, and neither do I." Jim pulled out the phone again, and hit another speed-dial button, this one for Blair's cell phone. "Voice mail. Simon…could you—"

The captain was already reaching for the button that switched on the siren.

Ten minutes later, Banks pulled his car into a parking space, barely getting it stopped before Jim was hurling himself out. "The truck's not here, Simon!"

Simon exited the car only slightly slower than his detective. "Maybe he went somewhere, Jim; calm down."

"Simon, he was tired, he didn't feel well, he said he was going to come home and crash. He wouldn't have gone anywhere!" The Sentinel halted, and Banks recognized the intense concentration and fixation as Ellison scanned the area for his partner. "He's not in the loft," Jim murmured, after a few seconds.

"Do you suppose he was here and left again, or never got here?"

Ellison winced at the phrasing, but knew Simon's query was a legitimate one. "I'll check the loft," he muttered, and was about to run for the building's entrance when his gaze fell on something lying in the street near their usual parking place. Eyes narrowing, he focused his sight, then abruptly dashed over to it. "Oh my God…." With trembling fingers Jim picked the object up and held it out for Simon to see. "Blair's shield. There's no way he could lose this off his belt accidentally. You still think there's nothing wrong?"

Banks stared at his friend bleakly. "No."

A hasty check convinced both Jim and Simon that Blair had never gotten as far as the loft. They headed back down to the street, Jim barely hanging on to his composure as the certainty of his partner's disappearance hammered at his mind; Simon desperately trying to corral his best detective and force him into concrete, positive action.

"Jim. Jim! Dammit Ellison, concentrate!" Banks grabbed the Sentinel's arm. "I've heard Sandburg brag about your ability to track heartbeats or scents across town – all right, show me! Can you locate him that way?"

Jim stared at his captain a few seconds and then frowned. "I'm…not sure. I can try, but….If Sandburg was here to ground me, I could do it, no problem. Without him grounding me…." A bitter chuckle escaped him at the irony: if Blair was here, he wouldn't _need_ to be grounded to look for him! And if he zoned looking for his partner, who might be able to bring him out of it? "You think you can keep me from zoning?"

"Jim, you can do it, and I know damned well you know how to keep yourself from zoning, if it's important enough," Simon growled. "Sandburg needs you – and I know you won't let him down." He glared at Jim. "And if you even try zoning, I'll slap you and then blow cigar smoke in your face, so help me if I don't!"

Jim didn't bother dignifying that with a reply; he simply closed his eyes, cocked his head, and extended his hearing. _Out…out further…_ input flooded him and was selectively cataloged and discarded. Seeking that one elusive heartbeat that was imprinted on his senses and his soul…. _Out still further, to the edges of safety…._

The Sentinel pulled himself back, realizing with a jolt that he had, indeed, risked a major zone. He opened his eyes and stared at Simon, despair filling the ice-blue eyes. "Nothing. Either it's too far or there's too much other noise interfering. Or—" _No! He's there somewhere. He's not dead. He can't be dead!_

"Let's go on the assumption that he's too far away for you to pick up," Banks suggested briskly, and moved towards his car. "Let's start driving in a spiral pattern from here and you see what you can pick up….And I'll call in an APB on the truck."

Ellison followed, still casting his hearing out as far as he dared.

##########

Blair drove the Ford truck across the city, glumly wondering what the outcome of this crazy evening was going to be. Drop these guys at the bus station and wave them goodbye? He could only hope, even if they took all his cash with them! But what if they decided that, after all, a chauffeured ride to Seattle was more to their liking? Would he be obliged to declare himself, draw his gun and take them into custody as attempted kidnappers? What if they tried to just take Jim's pickup, and got nasty about it? Was he in any shape to take down two potentially desperate individuals? The Guide shifted in his seat, feeling anew the sharp snaps of pain ricochet through his back muscles as they stiffened up. The excruciating spasms hadn't returned – yet – but they were threatening.

He had hastily turned the volume all the way down on Jim's police radio as soon as he got in, to avoid allowing cold-eyed Denny to realize that he was dealing with the Cascade PD. He'd switched off his cell phone, not daring to risk receiving a call while trying to work through this…situation.

He had attempted to make casual conversation throughout the ride, with two motives: first, to keep Denny relaxed; second, in a nearly-vain hope that at _some_ point, Jim just might be seeking him, and would pick up on his voice. Denny, however, had eventually snarled at him to shut up. Blair, noticing the increasing agitation of the man, had obeyed.

They were nearing their destination now, Blair noted with gratitude. Just a little further, through this somewhat rundown section of town…."Bus station's just on the next block, man." Blair changed lanes, signaling automatically despite the complete lack of other traffic around them. "Hope you and Alvie have a nice trip to Seattle – or wherever you end up."

Denny glared at him. "Pull over," he rasped.

"Huh? Denny, I'll take you all the way to the bus station—"

"I said, pull over!" The snarl was alarming in its intensity, and Blair, after one quick look at his irate passenger, slowed the truck, preparatory to obeying Denny's instructions. "I've changed my mind. I don't think Alvie and I wanna take the bus to Seattle after all." The man bared his teeth in a semblance of a grin. "I think we're gonna drive there in a pickup."

"Man, I cannot take you to Seattle; I've got to go to work in the morning!"

"Didn't say you were going," Denny grunted. "Now, pull over and get out!" To Blair's shock, there was suddenly a large pocketknife in the other man's hand, its blade unnervingly close to him.

Blair glanced at his surroundings: small businesses now shut for the night, seedy-looking rooming houses, squalid diners, an adult theater. No likely help for a detective with a bad back and no ID. _All right, Blair, it's up to you. No more Mr. Nice Guy – Oh, Jesus, if I hurt this truck, Jim'll massacre me!_ "Man, what's gotten into you? All right, all right, just give me a chance, here—"

And as he spoke, Blair wrenched the steering wheel sharply to the left and hit the gas in a desperate move, jouncing the truck's tires up onto the sidewalk and narrowly missing a parking meter. Denny bounced and lurched away, banging against the passenger door before being tossed back towards Blair. In the back, Alvie gave a piercing yell as he was flung full length in the truck bed.

Fighting the steering wheel for control, Blair slammed on the brakes, but felt a thudding impact against the front fender all the same. _Oh, no!_ He cringed inwardly, but he had no time to wonder what he'd done to Sweetheart; he was holding off Denny and his pocketknife, he was struggling to squirm out from beneath the steering wheel and get out the door, he was frantically trying to unfasten his seat belt and reach his gun.

"All right, HOLD IT right there!" At last succeeding in at least one of his efforts, Blair managed to snag the Sig Sauer from its holster and shoved it point-blank into Denny's contorted face. "I said HOLD IT, CASCADE POLICE!"

The change would have been comical if Blair had been observing it from the outside instead of being involved. Denny shrank back against the passenger door, all color draining from his face. The pocketknife clattered to the floor. "Wha-what – you, you're—"

"Yeah, I am." Blair finished undoing the seat belt and opened his door with his left hand, keeping the gun trained unerringly on his passenger. "And I'm sick and tired of this. Hell, try to be nice…." He backed up slowly, and beckoned. "Slide over, Denny, and get out. Toss the knife out first." He spared a quick glance into the truck bed, and saw Alvie peering at him over the side, open-mouthed. "Alvie, you too. Get out and keep your hands where I can see them."

They obeyed him; Denny sullen and muttering obscenities, Alvie looking, in Blair's estimation, as if he'd been poleaxed. Of course, being tossed around in the truck bed _had_ probably shaken him up a little.

"Turn around and put your hands on the truck." Reaching into his back pocket, Blair got out his handcuffs and snapped one side onto Denny's wrist. "Alvie, stay right there." He dragged Denny the few steps to the bolted-down bus bench he'd rammed the truck into, and wrapped the free end of the cuffs around a slat. "SIT. Denny, you move and you'll be sorry." He tugged Alvie over to the bench, shoved him onto the seat, and snapped the other cuff onto his wrist. The two erstwhile truck thieves were now both inextricably connected to each other and the bench.

 _Whew!_ Heaving a long sigh, now feeling his back doing a whole lot more than just twinging, Blair holstered his pistol and stared in disbelief at his two captives. "What was  with you guys, anyway? I give you money, I give you a ride to the bus station, and you try to knife me and steal my roommate's truck!?"

"I didn't try to—" Alvie started protesting.

"SHUT UP!" Denny's glare could have blistered paint. "Just shut up, Alvie!"

"All right." Blair strove for patience. "Look, I'm willing to let this go if you'll just get out of my life, okay? Just…get to the bus station, or the train station, or the airport, or hitchhike out of town – and leave me and this truck in peace!" He took a step or two towards the bench, hands raised slightly in a gesture of appeal.

In an unexpected act of defiance, Denny's foot lashed out and connected solidly with Sandburg's kneecap. Blair yelped, his leg buckled beneath him, and Denny's second kick hit him squarely in the jaw.

Blair toppled backwards, and his head came in hard contact with the sidewalk. He grunted at the pain, and dazzling starbursts burst across his vision. _All right, I'm done trying to reason with these morons…._ Struggling up on one elbow, rubbing first his throbbing head and then his jaw, Blair worked his cell phone from his pocket and pressed the Power button.

"Yeah, Dispatch…this is…Detective Sandburg, Major Crimes.…" Blair squinted, attempting to clear his suddenly-fuzzy vision. "I have an attempted 503…and a 10-108….Suspects contained, but…officer…needs…assis- ..." Fuzziness morphed into grayed-out vision, the phone slipped from nerveless fingers, and he sprawled unconscious on the sidewalk.

##########

They had been driving for what seemed like forever to the desperately worried Sentinel, and still he could find no trace of Blair's heartbeat. _It's because I'm too stressed to concentrate,_ he told himself resolutely _. It's not because it's not there; I just haven't found it yet!_

Simon turned another corner, heading back the way they had come, completing another diagonal sweep. "Anything, Jim?" He kept his voice soft, knowing Jim had his sense of hearing dialed to the maximum.

Jim shook his head minutely, and pulled back for just an instant. "Not yet."

"Keep trying."

The crackle of the police radio startled them both, and Jim blessed whatever deity had allowed it to come to life at that precise moment, when his hearing had been temporarily dialed down to normal. _"Attention all units, 10-108, location unknown, officer's request for assistance cut off in transmission. Repeat, all units, BOL, officer down and requests assistance, location unknown."_

"Oh my God – Simon, it's Blair, it's got to be!"

Banks was already keying his radio. "Dispatch, this is Captain Banks, do you have the identity of the officer?"

" _Affirmative, Captain; Detective Blair Sandburg. He reported an attempted car theft, and said the suspects were in custody – and then, nothing."_

"Got it. Thanks." The captain keyed off, then glanced at his white-faced passenger. "Jim, FIND him!"

"Damn it, Simon, I'm trying! I'm trying—" The Sentinel clamped his jaw shut, closed his eyes, and concentrated grimly on extending his hearing. Seeking that oh-so-familiar heartbeat. _Seeking…extending a little further…concentrate…Blair's heartbeat. Blair…_ _THERE_!

"I've got him!" Jim's eyes snapped open. He pointed sharply right. "That way. And Simon…step on it!" He grabbed for the radio mike to announce that they were responding to Blair's call.

Five desperate, lights-but-no-siren minutes later, they were close enough that the two detectives called in the general vicinity to Dispatch, and asked for backup.

Another minute, and Simon was pulling to a halt in the middle of the street. Jim leaped from the car, his gaze sweeping over the incredible sight of his truck half on the sidewalk with the left fender crunched solidly against a bench – a bench where two very unhappy-looking men huddled, handcuffed together and intricately fastened to their seat. And more importantly, over the unsettling sight of his partner and Guide lying all-too-quietly on the concrete walkway. If he hadn't been able to hear Blair's heartbeat, steady and reassuring, Jim would have panicked completely. As it was, he was still very, very worried.

"Blair!" With total disregard for the two men handcuffed to the bench, Jim knelt beside his partner, noting with dismay the bruised, already-swelling jaw. "Wake up, Chief, c'mon…." With exquisite gentleness, Ellison felt for injuries, and found the rising lump on the back of his Guide's head. "Aw, Chief; damn it all anyway – you've got the worst luck, don't you?" he muttered softly. "Come on now, Sandburg, open those baby blues for me."

"Ambulance on the way," Simon said, from somewhere behind them. "And a patrol car for these two."

"Don' wan' an ambulance," came the soft objection. "Don' need it." Sandburg opened his eyes and stared blearily upwards.

"Easy, buddy. Take it easy."

"Jim?" A small smile of relief touched Blair's lips. "Knew…you'd find me. I'm sorry – the truck…" A long, weary sigh. "They were going to take it…to Seattle."

"Shhh…don't worry about it. How many fingers am I holding up?"

A ripple of welcome laughter. "One – and that's incredibly rude, man! Help me up, Jim; I'm okay."

"Not a chance." Ellison held his partner down with a hand pressed firmly on his chest. A smile curved Jim's lips upward, and he felt in his pocket. "Chief – I think you dropped this."

A matching smile suffused Blair's face. "My shield…awww, Jim, thanks!"

Captain Banks was surveying Blair's captives with contempt. "You tried – I can't believe this! You actually tried to steal a detective's vehicle?"

"We didn't know he was a detective!" Alvie whined. "And I didn't want to steal the truck! Man, I just wanted the ten bucks and the ride to the bus station!"

"He's right," Blair whispered, and tugged at Jim's jacket to gain his attention. "Alvie didn't do anything. It was all Denny, man. Oh, except – well, Alvie's got my wallet."

"Okay, Chief, noted." Jim patted him reassuringly. "Now, watch me scare the daylights out of 'em." He got to his feet and glided towards the bench, his predatory walk matching the expression on his face. Simon took one look and hastily turned his back, so that Denny and Alvie wouldn't see him laughing.

"That man happens to be a detective for the Cascade Police Department," Ellison stated in a silky whisper. "You assaulted a police officer, Denny. Do you know what the penalty is for assaulting a police officer? And not only is he a detective, his roommate's a police detective too. The roommate whose truck you tried to steal." He glowered at the hapless two before him, that renowned 'Ellison glare' so well known to Cascade criminals and police alike. "The roommate who happens to be Detective Sandburg's partner, gentlemen." Now the silky whisper had turned to a menacing hiss. "The partner who just so happens to be ME!"

When the ambulance arrived, the paramedics were a little confused – they'd thought they were responding to an injured police officer…but it was the _suspects_ who seemed in more need of assistance. Both looked to be in the middle of severe panic attacks. The officer in question was lying on the sidewalk and suffering from an acute case of the hiccups – brought on by uncontrollable laughter.

##########

"I don't care if I do have a concussion, Jim; I'm going HOME, and if I have to sign myself out AMA, I'll do it!" Blair shoved himself to a sitting position on the exam table, wincing and scowling. His expression was made especially formidable by the darkening bruise along his jawline.

"All right Chief, all right, settle down." Ellison gave his partner another of what seemed an ongoing series of comforting pats. "We'll go home. The doctor said you could, as long as you take it easy for a couple of days." He paused, a pained expression in his sky-blue eyes. "It's a good thing Sweetheart's still drivable, though, otherwise we'd have to get a ride from Simon!"

"Man, you're never gonna let me forget this, are you?" Blair groaned pitifully. "Jim, man, I didn't have much choice!" He sighed and leaned against his partner's solid shoulder. "Would you rather I'd let them have her, instead of crashing? Or gotten knifed, maybe?"

"No, no, no, of course not, Chief!" Jim's tone was both amused and soothing. He eased Blair off the exam table, and put a supporting arm about him. "Come on, I've got your prescriptions."

"And speaking of prescriptions….Damn you anyway, Ellison," Blair continued his grumbling diatribe as they proceeded down the corridor, "why'd you have to mention the back spasms and ask the doctor about muscle relaxants, anyway? You darned interfering…interfering…SENTINEL!"

"Because you need them," Jim replied equably, and steered Blair towards the exit.

##########

"Really, Sandburg? You're actually not going to file charges against those two bozos? You've certainly got them dead to rights, you know."

"Really, Simon. If I file charges, I'll have to see them again. I'd have to face them in court. I don't want to see them again, I don't want to even talk about them again. I just want to forget last Thursday ever happened. I want them to go to Seattle, go to Spokane, go to Boise – go to hell, for all I care – as long as they leave Cascade and I never have to encounter either of them ever again!" Blair shuddered eloquently.

"Well, all right, Blair, if that's the way you want it." Captain Banks closed the file folder and set it down with finality. He cocked an inquiring look at his newest detective, as Blair turned to leave. "Sandburg – you feeling all right now? All over the concussion and the strained back, and all that?"

"Back to one hundred percent, Captain." Sandburg smiled warmly as Jim Ellison entered Banks' office with a perfunctory tap on the door. "Thanks to a fussy – and forgiving – Blessed Protector."

The End


End file.
